Written by Lesa Crowell
This is my favorite time of year. Well, football season is technically my favorite time of year, but summertime in the South … you just can’t beat it.
I hate it when people (a few ignorant Yankees) put down my beautiful South. I hate seeing the South portrayed as an ill informed cliché. Yes, we have our share of characters, problems and injustices just like every part of the world, but give me a hundred drunken rednecks at a NASCAR race when Dale Jr. looses, rather than ten rude Yankees any day of the week.
I was once asked why I live here, when I could live anywhere I wanted. How do you answer a question like that? How can you not love living in the South?
Even when it is 110 degrees in the shade come August, you have to love it. “AC and sweet tea, Dahlin.” That’s how you deal with August in the South … plus knowing that football season is just a month away.
I love the rhythm of life here. I love the fact that I can walk outside and actually see stars, and hear the frogs, crickets and bugs sing in perfect harmony.
I love that my sons have slow Southern drawls, explaining exactly why something is on fire.
I love food fried in bacon grease.
Thank the good Lord above for good genetics, because I love fried food. On my 30th birthday I had a dinner party. Guess what was on the menu? Fried cabbage, soup beans with ham hocks, corn bread and champagne. If you ask my husband Race what my last meal would be, he would tell you fried pork chops, fried squash and fried cabbage.
I love William, Margaret, Harper, and B.C. I love “Yes Ma’am” and “No Ma’am”.
I love the fact that if I break down in the middle of the road, someone will stop and offer help — even if they might be a potential serial killer who will offer to change my tire before cutting me up in little pieces.
I love the fact that if I miss church, someone will send me a card telling me that I was missed.
I love that “Big Hair” and “Blue Hair” can define what age you are.
I love driving my SUV through actual dirt roads and getting it muddy. I love that my first date with my husband involved shooting guns and drinking beer. (Equally important skills for us Southern girls.)
I love that my friends don’t feel the need to call to come over, and that they just walk right in the house.
I love the fact that one of my best friends is named Scarlet. I love the fact that if someone starts a sentence with “Bless his or her heart” that I am about to hear a really good story.
I love Jazz, Blues, Soul and Southern Rock and Roll, and I love the fact that I get goose bumps when Elvis sings Dixieland.
I love that when I am getting or giving directions, it usually involves trees, barns, or other landmarks instead of actual road signs and house numbers.I love being surrounded by the smell of freshly cut hay.
I love the fact that if someone in my family ‘up and dies,’ I will have ten full-course dinners at my house in less than an hour. There will also be enough cakes, pies and other confections to keep a sugar addict happy for a month. (We don’t just simply ‘die’ in the South, “we up and die.” Just like when we become Christians-we ‘up and get saved.’)
I love it that if I say, “the pig in the ground and the beer on ice,” someone will finish with “and all my rowdy friends are comin over tonight.”
I love that ya’ll know exactly what I am talking about.
Have a great summer and ‘see ya’ll this fall.’
‘Give me Sweet Tea and AC, Dahlin’ …
Written by Lesa Crowell